


Flashlights

by Mochirimi



Series: Postwickshipping 2020 [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, Hopyu, In which Gloria avoids her feelings, Postwick Week, PostwickShipping, Postwickshipping Week, Unconfessed Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22646662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mochirimi/pseuds/Mochirimi
Summary: Feb. 9 | Day One: Warm Nights/ Cold NightsIn which Gloria has been avoiding her feelings for her best friend and has stayed away for months until one cold night.
Relationships: Hop/Yuuri | Gloria
Series: Postwickshipping 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629103
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	Flashlights

**Author's Note:**

> So, technically this is still on time for the first day of Postwickshipping (at least in my timezone)! Somehow I made it, because time definitely got away from me. This didn't turn out exactly how I wanted, but yeah, it happened, and I'll try to do better tomorrow. Anyways, please enjoy. Ultimately, I think all of my prompts for Postwickshipping Week 2020 will be related in the same timeline, so there will be more. 
> 
> Ok bye!

It’s too easy to stay away. 

Dark feathers carve and cut through the night air as the Corviknight descends in front of Gloria’s Postwick cottage. From her house on the hill, the tiny town below is a lullaby of country charm, cradled in the quiet hours of its citizenry. 

And here she is, sneaking home like a thief in the night. As if this isn’t home.

The taxi basket lands with a sure pressure and a muted thud in the Postwick snow. Above her, the Corviknight caws, the sharp sound piercing the cold night. The pokemon doesn’t need to announce it, she knows. It’s an indiscernible quality in the air, the way the breeze rolls over the snow-covered hills from her cottage and the village across the river. 

As the aviator opens her door and lends her a hand for her first steady step into the snow, Gloria’s eyes wander across her childhood home. The way the grayed ivy climbs and lingers over the cottage stone reminds her how long she’s stayed away. 

Amber glows from the window panes and her home breathes, _Welcome home._ Inside, her mother’s shadow shifts and grows long in contrast to the luminous light.

The guilt sets in.

Shifting her journey-worn limbs, she adjusts the straps of her worn leather bag and takes one solid steady breath. Here she goes.

The brass doorknob turns easy in hand, the teal door gives way and she is in a tight and warm embrace. Her mom’s embrace is full of months of unfiltered affection and her heart feels so full. The guilt wanes, if only for a moment. 

“Welcome home, my sweet one.” Her mom murmurs into her shoulder.

Since when did she get so short? She considers. _When did she get so tall._

“I’m sorry I’m so late, Ma.” Gloria begins to explain how photoshoots ran too long, interviews prolonged, but her mother quickly hushes her, waving off the excuses Gloria considered on the ride from Wyndon. 

“A champion has her responsibilities.” She shrugs, leading her quietly to the kitchen. “I understand; you’re busy.”

Gloria’s response is slow, tangled with all she wants to say and all she can. “Right.” Her mother stands, her back to Gloria, going through the process of making their tradition of hot spiced milk and chocolate with the snowfall outside. “Thank you, Ma, for understanding.”

She wraps her arms around her mother, hugging the aged woman from behind. In her arms, she feels her mother pause with the initial note of surprise, the stiffening of her body into a question mark, and the slow melting into quiet comprehension. Her mom pats her arm with a calloused hand. 

“I’m so glad you’re home, my sweet one.” 

When Gloria retracts her arms from the hug, she’s handed a steaming mug as sweet as childhood. Told to unpack. To settle. And be prepared in the morning.

The warning is subtle, implied in the innocent remarks of how excited everyone would be to see her. Everyone, including him. Especially him. Probably.

Gloria’s cheeks color as his smile flashes like lightning in her mind. She blows on the steam rising from the mug, counts the flecks of gold and auburn cinnamon in the milk. After months away, maybe he would be excited to see her. 

Months.

Months of avoiding awkward phone calls and even more awkward conversations between her and the boy who was supposed to be her best friend, who she just couldn’t find herself confiding to these days. Because how are you supposed to confide to your best friend that you’re probably very much in love with him. And have been so for years. 

Walking quietly into her childhood bedroom, Gloria drops her leather bag with a definitive thud onto the colored floor, her mug set down beside plush pokemon she used to fantasize about when she would go on her one-day journey of adventure, the people and pokemon she’d meet.

That felt like ages ago. 

Her fingers trail along the furniture towards the window seat at the far end. The cold whispers from the window, the snow a flurry of wind and winter just outside the translucent pane. As she settles into the worn cushions and pillows kissed against the frost and frame, the view down the hill is familiar, filling her for the briefest moment with warmth and nostalgia for the simple times before she was champion and he quit their rivalry to become a professor, before there were responsibilities. 

Back when they were just Postwick kids. 

Down below Hop’s house stood nestled in the winter, the rooms and hearth asleep and the house dulled in a quiet hibernation. Except for one flame flicker of an all too familiar corner, and the drawn shadow of a familiar figure against the window. 

Almost instinctively, Gloria presses against the window frame, as if the mixture of a warm breath and a secretly hopeful spirit could fully conjure a boy she’d avoided for months. Her knees and body pressed to the edge of the frame, she watches the shadow of a boy dance, move with the figure its stitched to. The motion dislodges the pillows and something heavy thuds to the floor and rolls across the hardwood.

Leaning over, Gloria quickly picks up the item in the dark, the cold metallic pressing into the palms of her hand. It’s her flashlight. From their Postwick kid adventures. 

The memories come easy, flashing across her mind leaving a small smile in their wake. If he were here in front of her, what would she even say? 

Biting her bottom lip, Gloria rolls the flashlight in her hands. Maybe she could try. 

Across the way, the light in the window frame dims and the boy disappears into the darkness. 

She could do this. The breath meant to steady her nerves comes out ragged, bundled with nerves and anxiety. Ok.

Turning the flashlight towards the house down the hill, Gloria clicks the flashlight’s button in four quick syncopated beats, followed by two more. The golden yellow light colors the white winter and shines across the darkness. _Hi_

Would he respond? 

Minutes fall like strangled hours as she waits. Would he respond? Would he even want to? 

Right when she’s ready to turn away, to come to terms that their friendship couldn’t survive what she’d put it through, a golden light flashes back at her window from Hop’s window.  
_Hello._

The response is like a livewire. They’re talking! Quickly, Gloria straightens her body and begins her own message. _How are you?_

 _Good._ He begins, Pauses. _Tired._

How should she respond? Placing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Gloria considers the next response that could keep this going. Like they used to. 

And then her Rotom rang. Putting the flashlight down, her next breathe is steady. Ready. 

“Hello.”

“Hey.” His voice is deeper than she remembers, more robust and tired. 

“So…” She pauses, swallows, smiles just the smallest bit. “You called.”

“And you answered.” Even without him in front of her, she knows his arms are crossed, his eyebrow raised, all accumulated to the obvious question. “It’s been months, Glo.”

“I know, I’ve been busy.” Her excuse was lame. They both knew it.

“Yeah… I know, but you’ve been away for a while.” His voice is cautious, the end of the phrase debating, weighing over what he says next. “My ma missed you, mate.”

An image of Hop’s mom is clear in her mind. Her smile grows, maybe she could joke. “Well of course she does, when all she has to talk to now is you, I’d miss me too,” she teases. 

She can imagine him rolling his eyes, the chuckle making it clear to them that they could fall into old routines, be like they always were if that’s what they wanted. “Hardy har har. Very funny, Glo. But seriously,” he pauses, and she hears him breathe into the phone, his own internal debate clear across the line, “are you okay?”

Is that what she wanted? Gloria readjusts the phone in her own hand, considering the question. Was she ok? Was she ok with having things the way they used to be? Is that the real reason she’d been staying away?

She was a mess.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just…” Gloria curls against the window and closes her eyes. “Just tell me what you’ve been up to. The pokemon you’ve met.”

If Hop questions the distraction, he doesn’t say instead complying with her request, spinning long anecdotes of the pokemon he encountered, the things he learned along the way. The stories are calming, comfortable, like a warm fire on a cold night. 

Lulled by his stories, his research, Gloria yawns, falling into a doze, cradling the phone against her cheek. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she confesses, “I missed you so much, Hop.”

Right on the precipice of sleep, Gloria hears his voice, tender, soft, and delicate. “Then don’t stay away so long, Glo. If you run so fast so far, I’ll never be able to catch you.”


End file.
